


Misfits

by greenmage128



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Detention, If you've ever wondered what certain members of the SPN cast would be like as spoiled rich kids, M/M, Mentions of various other characters - Freeform, Multi, Private School, School Uniforms, Tie Kink, just a little bit, this is the fic for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmage128/pseuds/greenmage128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley makes friends in the strangest of places. Otherwise known as Gadrowbriel's Adventures on Ye Olde Detention Bus of Misfit Toys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misfits

**Author's Note:**

> *insert totally-not-complaining comment about AU posts and Tumblr* Also, if you're looking for the Gadrowbriel Manifesto, this is as close as I'm gonna get outside of long-fic form. Enjoy!

“So, what'cha in for?”

Those were the first words Gabriel Shurley ever said to him. Crowley, of course, had ignored him, even though the prat had draped himself over the back of the seat in front of him and kept staring like he expected an answer. When even the bus going over a pothole couldn't dislodge the boy, Crowley closed his Latin textbook with a resigned sigh and dignified him with a response.

“Apparently Mr. Alastair doesn't appreciate when students try to correct him or his fundamental misunderstanding of European history.”

Gabriel—who Crowley only knew by his reputation for pranks that were this side of legendary in their ridiculousness and the skill required in their execution—grinned. “Oh, you must be that Fergus kid. I heard you tried to shank him with a pencil.”

“The name's Crowley,” he said, making no attempt to hide the irritation in his voice. “Only my mother calls me Fergus.”

“When she calls you anything.”

Crowley did a double-take. There was no pity or snark in Gabriel's face, just understanding. It seemed the son of a local famous author had his share of problems too, but then that's why they were both on this bus that was otherwise not supposed to transport kids who got themselves into detention, even at a hoity-toity private school like theirs. “Right. And anyway, I didn't 'shank' him. All I did was throw my pencil at him after he said he was giving me detention. It's not my fault it landed point-first in his arm.”

“Of course. Too bad you didn't give Mr. Alastair lead poisoning. He's such a dick, y'know?” Gabriel said, but Crowley wasn't really listening, too distracted by the other boy's loose, half-done tie and the skin just above his unbuttoned shirt collar.

What he didn't expect was for Gabriel to catch him staring, and if Crowley had any less self control he would have fallen for the mischievious glint in those amber eyes. “You can do more than look, if you want.”

“You cannot be serious,” Crowley found himself saying, though he wasn't happy with his brain's choice of words. This was one occasion where it playing it cool was not necessary. But since he'd picked this line of argument, he was going to stick with it. “If you're that easy, I think I'd rather not.”

Gabriel pushed at his shoulder, though it almost sent him tumbling over the seat-back. “Don't be an asshole, dude. We've been stuck on this bus with just the two of us for, like, a month.”

All right, this was actually much better than just letting Gabriel fall into his lap. “And? That means you've ignored me for a month. So what? You got bored enough that talking to me seemed like a good idea?”

“No, fuck you, man.” Gabriel glared at him and then fell back in his seat, resting against the window and definitely not looking at Crowley. “I was curious, okay? You never talk, and I had no idea who you were until five minutes ago. So sue me.”

Crowley bit down a grin; this was too much fun. “If my family wasn't filthy rich already, I might take you up on that. It would take a bit out of your inheritance, but that's rather like a drop in a bucket, isn't it?”

“Hey with any luck our parents can get into a massive civil suit for the world to see and claim it's for 'our benefit',” Gabriel said, fiddling with his phone and still refusing to look at Crowley, though traces of his smile were starting to return.

“I might know where to find Judge Judy's number.” Crowley reached over the seat and snatched the phone out of Gabriel's hands. At his protest, Crowley said, “It's dead, and it's been dead for fifteen minutes. Admit it, the only reason you started talking to me was because you were bored.”

Gabriel tried to reclaim his phone, but Crowley kept it out his reach. “Why the hell do you even— Give it back, damn it!”

“Hey, you two settle down back there! We are stuck in rush hour traffic, so if you injure yourselves, you're gonna have to deal with it,” the bus driver, Mr. Singer, yelled back at them.

“You heard the man.” Crowley tucked the phone into his blazer pocket and leaned back in his seat. “Though if you want it that badly, you should come get it.”

“Fuck you, dude,” Gabriel said, though he was laughing this time, and he slid out from his seat and into Crowley's in one smooth motion, plopping himself down across his lap. “I thought I was a tease but damn.”

Crowley pulled the other boy in closer by his half-done tie. “Is that a complaint?”

“Absolutely not.”

* * *

Their paths inside school didn't cross often, and after a few hurried makeout sessions in a custodial closet and more than a few death glares from Gabriel's older brother Luke, they decided the effort wasn't worth the pay off. So they sent deprecating and suggestive texts alike during class instead, though Gabriel was fond of wildly inappropriate but always hilarious snaps, which he had a knack for sending while Crowley was stuck in study hall.

The bonus of maintaining most of their relationship—if it could be called that—on the bus home after detention was that it was low-effort and bother-free, something both Crowley and Gabriel seemed to appreciate. Singer, as Crowley called him, dropping the “mister” just to get on the old man's nerves, only gave token protests when Gabriel's attempts at being creative got out of hand. Though Crowley had to give him credit; when he said to knock it off, they did, otherwise they ended up risking busting their heads on a window or the floor when the bus came to a screeching halt.

All in all the situation was ideal, and neither of them had trouble finding ways to get into detention. Good things never last the way they should, however, and a week after school resumed after winter break, things changed.

There was a new kid on the bus.

He was already there by the time Crowley and Gabriel boarded that afternoon, sitting in the middle on the driver's side and hunkered down like that was going to make him invisible. Worse, neither of them had any idea who he was.

Gabriel attempted to say hi, but the kid just waved back without looking up. They couldn't get him to talk at all during the trip, even when they were being loud just to be loud, so when they got off the bus that day—Singer had taken to dropping them at a stop halfway between their houses, which were in the same neighborhood, just to get rid of them that much faster—they hadn't learned anything more about the new kid.

When he showed up again the next day, Crowley knew he had to get to the bottom of things.

He and Gabriel did have a few mutual classmates, and quizzing Meg, Castiel, and Balthazar gave them a name: Gadreel Sarver. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Gabriel paid off one of his older brother Michael's friends, the genius Kevin Tran who everyone knew was headed to Princeton (with Yale as a backup), to hack into the school's database to get the rest of the information.

Gadreel attended their school on scholarship, some kind of sport if Crowley had read the file right, and until the past couple weeks had been an exemplary student. The database failed to be of any more use, so if they wanted more information, and they did, because Gadreel was a puzzle they for some reason needed solved, they would have to do it the hard way.

Gabriel wanted to just flank the poor boy and interrogate until they were blue in the face, but Crowley talked him down from that. This would take subtlety, which wasn't quite Gabriel's strong suit.

It had been a week since Gadreel started appearing on the bus. Crowley was starting to notice little things about him—bruised knuckles, a split lip that never seemed to heal, and a burgundy binder that looked like it was about to fall apart. So Crowley bought a trapper keeper and placed it in Gadreel's hands once the bus started moving, so none of them had any place to run.

The taller boy stared at the present for a moment before looking up at Crowley. “What is this?” They were the first words he'd spoken in two weeks.

“A gift. It'll hold up better than one of those cheap ones when you have to drop it to kick some guy's arse,” Crowley said with a smile.

Gadreel looked at it like it might bite him before sliding it over to rest on top of his current, beat-up binder, using the action as an excuse to avoid eye contact some more. “Thanks, I guess.”

While he wasn't expecting Gadreel to turn on a dime, the complete lack of reaction was frustrating. Crowley sat down in the seat in front of Gadreel and tried not to sigh. In the back he could see Gabriel give him a thumbs-up, and that stupid little look was somehow encouraging. “I suppose introductions are in order. I'm Crowley, and you are…”

“You don't have to do this,” Gadreel said, half-mumbling. “And I don't really want your pity anyway.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Pity? Who said anything about pity?”

“This isn't pity?” Gadreel waved to the trapper keeper. “I'm not blind or stupid.”

No, he wasn't, and Crowley was starting to admire that about him. Gadreel was definitely not what he appeared. “No, it's not, honest. More practicality. If you're going to be in detention as much as we are, you've got to make sure your grades don't suffer. Got to give them a reason not to suspend you.“ 

“Oh.” Gadreel was quiet for a little longer, and Crowley swore he saw a smile cross that face as he looked back up, though it could have been a trick of the afternoon sunlight. “Is that how you keep from being suspended?“ 

“Hell no,” Gabriel said out of nowhere, popping up behind Gadreel. Crowley glared at him; what part of “no flanking” didn't he understand? “Crowley has authority issues, and teachers don't really like that, no matter how eloquent your essays. So basically our parents' money is the only reason we haven't been kicked out if school yet.“ 

“That's… ethical.” Gadreel craned his neck to glance between Gabriel and Crowley.

Gabriel shrugged it off with a nonchalant, “Eh.” Somehow he made moral ambiguity look cute. “Anyway, if you need help beating down the assholes who somehow think it's a good idea to pick a fight with you, we're available.“ 

That seemed to undo whatever progress they had made pulling Gadreel out of his shell, and he shook his head and dropped his gaze. “I can handle myself.“ 

Crowley glared at Gabriel again. This is why he did all the talking. “That's not in question, trust me. But there are alternative methods of getting even.“ 

“I just want it to stop. They're not even picking on me, but I can't stand by while a bunch of jerks bully my little brother Abner.” Gadreel sighed, and then he raised an eyebrow. “Wait. You said your name is Crowley? Didn't your dog put Mr. Zell in the ICU?“ 

“He was provoked but yes.”

“That reminds me you should make sure he doesn't have rabies. Your dog, not Mr. Zell,” Gabriel said. He returned his attention to Gadreel. “See, the thing is this. We're all misfits here, right? And misfits need to stick together, otherwise we'd be kind of fucked.“ 

Gadreel leaned back, glancing around the bus, raised eyebrow still in place. “So that makes this bus some kind of Land of Misfit Toys?“ 

The reference took Crowley by surprise, and he actually had to think to place it, because wow stop-motion Christmas specials were just outside of his purview. “Naturally, and Singer over there is our jolly old Santa Claus,” he said after a moment, nodding back to the bus driver. 

“I heard that, _Fergus_. Now sit your ass down before I make you.”

Crowley obeyed, but he took it as a victory all the same, though it forced him to peer up over the edge of the seat when he asked Gadreel, “What do you say?”

“Sure,” Gadreel said, casual, like Crowley and Gabriel hadn't gone through the teenage equivalent of hell just to hear him say that word, and it would be a long time before Crowley even understood why they'd bothered at all.

* * *

That time being almost two months later, just before spring break, when they were boarding the Ye Olde Bus of Detention Misfit Toys—as Gabriel had taken to calling it, and Crowley could never sway him from the stupid name—all of them bloodied and bruised after a prank gone wrong on Abaddon and her gang, a bunch of punks who thought they ran the school with a leather-clad iron fist. Sure they didn't win, but it was fun pulling the rug out from under them.

Gadreel was the last to get on, and Singer handed him the first aid kit without a word as he went. The number of scrapes Crowley found himself in had increased since Gadreel had joined them, but the taller boy also quickly established himself as their medic, so it all balanced out in the end.

In this particular fight, Gabriel had gotten off light with only a couple scratches and bumps, due to being the smallest and _fast_ and spending a lifetime learning how to dodge and weave and use his older brothers' size against them, but Crowley and Gadreel had suffered about the same amount of hits. Crowley normally tried to be as evasive as Gabriel in these situations, but when he had a shot and was angry enough, he couldn't help himself, and Abaddon had pissed him off.

Gabriel pulled Crowley into his seat, before he could protest, and Gadreel sat down across the aisle and opened up the first aid kit as the bus pulled out of the parking lot.

“This is going to sting,” Gadreel said, holding up an alcohol pad. “But I've got to clean it up now, before anything gets a chance to sink in, because you know how Abaddon plays dirty.”

“Right, fine,” Crowley said, growling. It wasn't the treatment he was opposed to, because Gadreel was right, but just the reminder of Abaddon was getting under his skin.

And then Gabriel wrapped his arms around Crowley, pinning his arms to his sides. “Just in case,” he said, resting his chin on Crowley's shoulder.

Crowley couldn't even bring himself to argue being treated like a child, though he would get Gabriel back for this later.

Gadreel scooted to the edge of his seat, limbs long and gangly enough that he could reach across the aisle easy, and set to work. The first few swipes weren't awful, but then Gadreel swapped out the pad for a fresh one, and as he went to continue the bus hit a pothole, making him hit the deepest part of the worst cut on Crowley's face.

Crowley hissed out “Fuck!” at the sharp sting of alcohol, and for a second it felt like his face was on fire. He was expecting some kind of sass from the Singer Peanut Gallery—again, Gabriel and his nicknames—but the driver was silent.

“Damn it.” Gadreel leaned back to dig around in the first aid kit, but he must've come up empty, because he was frowning when he turned back to them. “It's bleeding again, and I need something to staunch it.”

“Use my tie. Pretty sure that Ruby chick fucked it up all to hell anyway,” Gabriel said, lifting his head.

She had, if Crowley was remembering right, though that was difficult to do at the moment, what with everything getting hazy in his head. Not helping was Gadreel's closeness as he reached for Gabriel's tie, how his eyes were clearly focused on parts north of said tie and a few shades darker than their normal blue-green, and Gabriel's breathing had gone shallow and a little erratic. 

He blinked, and there was pressure on his head, over the cut, and Gadreel was looking at him now, expression shifting only slightly with the introduction of concern. Crowley had to be hallucinating. It was the pain, must've been.

“God, Crowley, I'm so sorry,” Gadreel was saying, but Crowley wasn't listening, his mind too busy toying with the possibilities and wondering how the hell they'd all missed the signs and if they were crazy enough to actually make the attempt. His pain-addled brain could only answer yes to all of that, regardless of logic.

“It's fine,” Crowley said, after he realized that he probably should be talking, lest Gabriel and Gadreel think he'd gone catatonic or something. 

A few minutes later, Gadreel finished bandaging up the cut and cleaned the remaining little ones scattered about Crowley's face and arms. He started to ease away, and Crowley was close to whining at the loss, but Gabriel did it for him, grabbing at Gadreel's hand-me-down blazer and pulling him back towards them.

“What are you—”

“Just c'mere,” Gabriel said, sliding all the way back to the window and dragging Crowley with him. “And bring the first aid kit. You got your ass kicked too.”

Gadreel hesitated for a moment but did as he was told. Crowley ended up in Gabriel's lap as he made room for the taller boy in the seat that was hardly made for two teenage boys, let alone three. The angle was awkward, but Crowley managed to patch up Gadreel, though the cuts all seemed minor compared to his.

“You should take up boxing with the way you can take a hit, Gadreel,” Crowley said, and there was more admiration in his tone than he liked.

“Now you know why I play hockey.” Gadreel laughed around a wince, because Crowley was far less artful in his first aid. He frowned a little, and his eyes shifted down and away from them. “Speaking of, you guys should come to a game some time. I know you don't really care about sports, but—”

“Dude, you're on the team. Of course we'll go,” Gabriel said, nudging Gadreel's shoulder and smiling. “You should've said something sooner.”

Crowley didn't even question the “we” part of that statement. He did, however, level an eyebrow at Gadreel. “Was that your way of asking us out?”

“No?” Gadreel tried, but he was betrayed by his sheepish grin. “Maybe. Yes.”

“Good, 'cause things were gonna get really awkward if it wasn't,” Gabriel said.

Gadreel laughed and relaxed, leaning against Gabriel and resting a hand on one of Crowley's legs that were draped across his lap. They stayed that way until the bus reached Crowley and Gabriel's shared stop, where Gadreel got off the bus with them. Singer didn't say a word, even though his own stop was on the other side of town.

“He's probably calling my dad right about now,” Gadreel said after the bus pulled away.

Gabriel frowned. “Everything gonna be okay?”

“Mm. My dad's working the late shift tonight anyway, and he doesn't normally give a shit, so why would he start now?” Gadreel shrugged, making a face as he did. The one bad scratch he got was on his shoulder, and the action must have aggravated it.

“Well would you look at that? Parents can be pieces of shit regardless of financial status.” Gabriel rolled his eyes and threaded his fingers with Gadreel's, and that made Crowley smile more than it should have. “We can hide out at my place, if you want, and I can probably con Raph into giving you a ride home. He actually kinda likes you guys.”

“Better idea,” Crowley said, unable to keep a smirk off his face. “My mum just left for a weekend business trip this morning. The house is all mine for the next two days.”

“Fergus Crowley, the King of Contrived Coincidences.”

“Gabriel, what have I said about my name?”

“Y'know, it's funny, but I seem to recall you saying I could call you whatever I want, so long as I—”

Gadreel cut them both off by clearing his throat. “I'm starting to feel like I'm insane for asking, but which way is your house, Crowley?”

He wanted to stick his tongue out at Gabriel in victory, but there were so many better things they could all be doing with their tongues right now. “Follow me.”


End file.
